Don't Pull a Potter
by xoxlollipopxox
Summary: "Good luck and Don't Pull a Potter!"- that's what they all say to each other before a major exam, before a Quidditch match, before anything important really. Harry Potter, the boy-who-lived, some expected him to be powerful, some smart, some noble, some arrogant, some even expected him to be Dark. But not this... no, definitely not this. HIATUS until Nov. 2013
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer: All recognized characters and elements goes to J.K Rowling**

**Hi people! So I'm not quitting LifeBound or anything, I just had a new idea so yeah... **

**Anyways, please read this and tell me your opinions!**

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Harry silently opened the front door of Number 4 Privet Drive and stepped inside with a grace that is unfound in any other six year old. His small body swiftly moved down the hall and into the kitchen where his aunt was busy shinning the already spotless counter while his uncle was leafing through the newspaper.

"Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia." Harry said his voice thin and shaky. A trickled of amusement and satisfaction ran down his spine when the two jumped at the sudden sound.

The six year old hunched his shoulders and pressed his elbows closer to his sides, successfully making him look smaller, as they turned to face him.

"Boy. Give me that." Aunt Petunia said as a thin bony h and shot out to snatch the crumpled piece of paper from his clutched hands.

She scanned the paper with her sharp eyes, her face scrunched up as if unsure if she should smile or frown, "One C, four Ds, and two Es."

"Not very smart are you boy?" Uncle Vernon said not bothering to look at his nephew.

The six year old ducked his head, "I'll do better next time Uncle Vernon."

"Yes, yes, we've heard that many times. Now here," she grabbed an apple off the counter and handed it to him, "Go eat in your room boy, goodness your pitiful brain needs all the nutrients it can get."

Taking the apple in his small hands, Harry turned away from his relatives. None of them noticed a small smile tugging at his lips as he silently walked up the stairs and into the smallest bedroom on the second floor.

Harry shut the door behind him and plopped down on his new, soft, feathery bed. His hands fluttered across the mattress in thought. It had taken him a while but he had managed to convince the Dursleys to buy him a new bed. Harry grimaced as he thought about all the bruises he had to inflict upon himself to get this.

When Aunt Petunia had seen all the bruises on his back, she had been horrified at the thought of the neighbors' reactions and had hurriedly asked him what had caused them. "The bed hurt me." He had said, making his voice weak and feeble. A week later, he came home from school to find a new bed awaiting him in his room.

Briefly Harry wondered, not for the first time, if he was being too over the top. He knew that lying was not right, that _is_ the first thing he had been taught in preschool. But for the life of him, Harry can't drop the act. It was just too funny and amusing seeing all this, and anyway, he likes getting what he wants.

* * *

When Harry was eight, his Uncle Vernon enrolled his cousin into the junior football league held in their town. At first Harry had been indifferent about the whole thing, but after a week of watching Dudley kicking the ball around haphazardly, Harry wanted to play, and so he started scheming.

After spending hours practicing each day, a month later, the football coach caught Harry out on the field scoring shot of shot. A week after that, Harry was proud to call himself a member of the Little Whinging Junior Football League.

* * *

When Harry was nine, he wanted a library card.

"What use is a library card for you boy? You barely know how to read." Aunt Petunia had spat out when he asked.

With hunched shoulders and wide eyes, the nine year old had replied, "B-but Aunt Petunia, Mrs. Hyland says that i-if I read more maybe my grades will improve."

Uncle Vernon had grunted, "Let him Pet, it's not like he'll ever be as good as our Dudley."

The whole while said blond boy had been shoveling bacon in his mouth. He only paused long enough to shoot his cousin a superior look.

Three days later, Harry came home later than usual, a library card safely stored in his trouser pocket and an armload of books covering a wide variety of subjects.

* * *

A week before Harry's eleventh birthday, he had gotten out of bed at seven o'clock sharp as par usual. Methodically going through his morning ritual, the boy had stopped and examined himself in the bathroom mirror.

The steam from the shower he just took clouded the reflective surface but a single swipe of his hand cleared it. Tan skin from spending hours playing football under the sun caused his teeth to look whiter than it is. His raven hair was trimmed neatly though it still curled around messily. Clear emerald green eyes set above high cheekbones blinked back at him.

For the thousandth time, Harry thanked whatever god is up there for his luck of getting his good eyesight from his mother's side. According to his aunt, in a rare moment when she spoke about his parent's, his father's family was all cursed terrible eyesight in the past five generations. Harry frowned thoughtfully as he pictured himself wearing glasses, it wouldn't be _bad_ exactly but it will be incredibly inconvenient when playing a football game.

Stepping back, Harry traced the lightning bolt shaped scar on his forehead with a single finger. Toweling his hair dry, he grimaced when he looked up into the mirror and discovered that his hair looked even messier than it already is.

Changing into a t-shirt and a pair of jeans from a cheap thrift shop, Harry sighed when he noticed that the hem jeans are now a good few inches above his ankles. He had gotten the pair a few months back and it is now already too short for him. Harry wasn't sure whether or not he should be frustrated at the too small clothes or thrilled at the prospect that he is growing taller. After all, there was a time when Harry worried that his first four years of neglect while living in the cupboard under the stairs with the Dursleys might've stunted his growth. _Just a late bloomer than_. Harry thought wryly as he stretched his cramped muscles before exiting the bathroom.

* * *

"Y-you write with quails?"

Minerva winced at the question before exchanging an exasperated look with her coworker, Filius Flitwick.

"No Mr. Potter, we write with quills." Filius answered patiently.

Minerva stifled a sigh when the boy opened his mouth to ask, undoubtedly, another ridiculous question.

"B-but isn't that _bad_?" the almost eleven year old asked as he shrank back into his seat, his voice quiet and tentative.

_Bingo_. She thought, though a part of her longed comfort the boy and put him at ease.

Minerva McGonagall had been asked by Albus Dumbledore, the Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, to go, together with the Charms Professor, to deliver one Harry Potter his Hogwarts Letter personally by hand. They had been instructed to talk things through with his guardians and take him shopping for his school supplies.

The Head of Gryffindor House didn't know what she had been expecting when she and Filius arrived. Perhaps a shy boy, perhaps a confused boy, even an arrogant boy! But no, of all the things, Minerva McGonagall had not been expecting a… a _dense_ boy. Not just that, but a dense, meek boy with absolutely no confidence in himself.

The professor is not one to usually judge a person by quickly, but this… this is just unbelievable. _Harry Potter, the son of one of the brightest witches to ever walk the halls of Hogwarts and one of the youngest men to ever become an Auror captain in history; the last surviving member and sole heir to the Ancient and Noble House of Potter… this boy is… unbelievable, just unbelievable. He's hailed a hero even before he can walk properly, how did this even happen?_ Minerva asked herself.

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**xoxlollipopxox**


	2. Neville Longbottom

**Disclaimer: All recognized characters and elements goes to J.K Rowling**

**So I actually had the time to go through and edit this after I was done, so hopefully there are less mistakes and stuff.**

**Enjoy!**

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"Potter, what are you doing here?"

Harry tugged at his robes and made sure to allow his hands to flutter around in a nervous gesture, "I-I, the letter…" he ducked his head and deliberately tilted his body so that the Head Boy is able to see his gleaming new prefect badge.

"You're the Gryffindor fifth year prefect?" a loud voice cut in.

Harry nodded his head, his eyes still downcast. Without even looking up, the fifth year can tell that it was Hermione Granger speaking to him; the proud bossy voice is unmistakable.

Harry fought a smile when he heard Draco Malfoy mutter, "It's true, Dumbledore has gone insane…"

_Oh, if only you knew…_ he thought wryly.

To be honest, Harry himself was confused as to why he was chosen to be the Gryffindor prefect for his year. He knew that he himself was smart… but Dumbledore certainly didn't. He made sure that all of his marks were lower than average, but high enough so that it wasn't too suspicious.

It didn't matter though, when he had received his Hogwart's letter in mid-July, he had found an attached letter on it congratulating him on making prefect. Harry had _not_ expected to be given this position. It just comes to show how desperate Dumbledore is to connect with the boy-who-lived. Harry had always assumed that the boy prefect would be Neville Longbottom; he certainly fits the criteria, popular, kind, and decent grades. In fact, if Harry _hadn't_ been the boy-who-lived, Longbottom would be the one sitting here, not him.

Judging by Granger's reaction, she had also thought that her counterpart would be one of her closest friend. _The Golden Trio, _Harry mused silently as he watched the Head students, Roger Davis and Adrianna Kline, start the meeting. _Neville Longbottom, Hermione Granger, and Ronald Weasely; three extremely different people with such a strong friendship. _Harry had always wondered how their friendship worked, it seems tiring from what he had observed. _Throw in the constant rivalry they have with Malfoy's posse and Macmillan's crew, how exhausting._

"Potter!" Kline barked as she focused her dark eyes on him.

Harry jolted at the sudden sound and hurriedly hunched is shoulders as he looked up feebly, "Y-yes?"

The Slytherin rolled her eyes, "It's traditional for the new fifth year prefects to do train patrol so you're on with Boot for the next hour. You'll trade off with Macmillan and Malfoy later."

Harry nodded as his eyes quickly darted to Terry Boot before slanting down to focus on his interlaced fingers again.

"Got it everyone?" Davis asked, "Good, now get going."

* * *

"Mione? What's wrong?" Neville asked as he turned to watch his brunette friend enter the compartment.

"Nothing." She huffed as she sat down on the seat next to him.

"No something's wrong alright." Ginny Weasely said as she looked up from the silenced game of Exploding Snap she was playing with her brother.

"Did you pull a Potter Mione? Is that why you're so… you know." Ron asked loudly.

Neville watched with interest as the girl's eyebrow twitched, "I did not pull a Potter and I never will _Ronald_. But…Potter's male prefect."

Neville felt his eyebrows rise at the news, a flash of annoyance raced through him but he quickly stamped that feeling out, "Oh… I thought it was going to be Thomas when I…"

Here, he trailed off but everyone in the compartment can fill in the blanks _…when I didn't get the prefect badge like we had all expected…_

The brief moment of silence was interrupted when the compartment door was opened. Even Luna, who had been starring off into space, jumped at the sudden intrusion.

"Right, sorry. You all okay here?" Terry Boot from Ravenclaw asked as he entered.

Neville smiled at him, "Yeah, we're all good Terry. Having fun with your prefect duties?"

Terry shrugged, "As good as it can get."

"Didn't pull a Potter yet did you?" Ron asked boisterously.

"Ron!" Ginny hissed as she swiftly delivered a kick to her brother's shin.

"Ow Gin, what was that fo-"

Neville hadn't even noticed that a second person had entered the compartment until he spotted a small movement from the corner of his eyes, "…"

A thick silence settled over the seven students.

"… Uh, hi Potter… didn't see you there." Ron said hesitantly as red flooded his cheeks. At that moment, the Longbottom Heir desperately wanted to slap Ron upside the head for being so blunt.

Neville felt a twinge of pity for the dark haired boy as he shuffled his feet nervously, "H-hi."

"Your head is infested with Wrackspurts." Luna said airily as she looked at Potter.

He heard Hermione cough delicately as if unsure of what to do at the random comment.

"Wrackspurts huh?" Neville said as he forced a carefree smile onto his face, he cocked his head at Potter, "What can possibly be bothering you? At least _you_ don't have to worry about pulling a Potter!"

The compartment erupted with snickers and laughter, even Hermione cracked a smile. Neville glanced at Potter, hoping that he hadn't offended the boy with his attempt at smoothing things over. He felt a stab of guilt when he saw that the boy had shrunk even more into himself.

Briefly, his eyes met those clear striking emerald orbs and he saw a glimmer of… _approval_? But the glint disappeared and was replaced by the usual shy uncertainty.

The next time Neville looked back, both of the male prefects were gone.

* * *

_"Wrackspurts huh? ...What can possibly be bothering you? At least you don't have to worry about pulling a Potter!"_

The compartment at the very end of the train held only one occupant. Harry replayed those words over and over in his mind as he twisted the rubik's cube around in his hands. To any other person, those words would've been interpreted as an insult. But not Harry, oh no, he can spot an insult a mile away. _That_ was most definitely not an insult. A clever save on Longbottom's part, using what was out there and turning it around; not only did it smooth out the previous mess up made by Weasely, but it also served as an amusing joke and Harry _always_ appreciates humor.

Harry's got to admit, he was impressed.

His respect for Longbottom had just gone up another notch, not that it was considered low to begin with. No, it was never low. How could it be? From the very beginning Neville Longbottom had been the Golden Boy, everything that Harry Potter should've been. At first, Harry had been jealous of all the compliments the other boy had received. But the jealousy faded to neutral acceptance when it was discovered that Longbottom had gone into the Forbidden Corridor and came out with a ton of injuries and an extra hundred points for Gryffindor House. Even until now, the details for that adventure were still hazy. But an adventure is an adventure, Hogwarts students are not picky.

Throughout the first three years, Harry had watched from a distance as Neville Longbottom did everything that _he_ was supposed to do. He watched as Neville Longbottom lived up to _his_ expectations. He had watched all this with amusement. The Golden Trio was certainly entertaining, what with them running around solving mysteries and breaking rules. The first three years of observation had always been disconnected, like a movie; none of it was actually personal to Harry.

But it all changed when Harry's name was drawn out of the Goblet of Fire in his fourth year. Or perhaps nothing _really_ changed since Harry continued to play the part of a dense and shy boy during the whole of the Tournament.

The other Houses hadn't seemed to care that much when Harry's name was drawn as the fourth champion. Everyone had known right away that Harry hadn't put his name in the Cup. After all, he _is_ the boy-who-lived-to-be-a-disappointment.

No, the other Houses had only looked at Harry with pity and slight worry. It was the visiting schools, more specifically, Beauxbatons, that were the problem.

In the beginning it had been amusing watching the Veela seethe; but after the third week, Harry had become extremely annoyed and even slightly agitated. He hadn't expected anyone to stand up for him when he was harassed by the French students; a few looks of sympathy here and there, but certainly not a full out confrontation.

Of course, like usual, Neville Longbottom went and broke all expectations. He had come charging into the group of French students when they had started harassing Harry again. With his large group of friends at his side, the Gryffindor had given the French one long whopping speech about integrity and honor.

After that incident, Harry had decided that if there was one person in Hogwarts that did not deserve to be manipulated for the sake of sating his twisted sense of humor, it was Neville Longbottom.

To this very day, Harry still suspects that the speech had been pre-prepared, most likely written by Granger considering all the advanced vocabulary that was in it.

Alone, in the compartment at the very end of the train, Harry Potter set down the now properly color coordinated Rubik's cube. He relaxed into his seat and enjoyed the silence the well warded compartment offered him.

Another year of amusement, another year going through the same act, another typical school year…

Oh, how very wrong he was.

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**Coming up next: Most likely going to be about the first day of classes.**

**Yay! Another chapter is complete.**

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**xoxlollipopxox**


	3. Evening and Morning

**Disclaimer: All recognized characters and elements goes to J.K Rowling**

**And another chapter is up! Thanks for all the reviews, reads, follows and favourites! **

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Albus Dumbledore stroked his long white beard and twinkled madly as the students dressed in black robes flooded into the Great Hall. Not for the first time, a small sense of pride welled up in him; from a disgraced family to now, one of the most powerful, magically and politically, wizards in the world, Albus is indeed proud of his many deeds. Proud of the many things he did in his long life that was successful.

Except.

Albus frowned a little when he spotted a small hunched figure trip clumsily into the Great Hall. Harry Potter. To this day, he was still Albus' greatest regret.

_What did I do wrong? All I ever wanted was for him to experience a childhood without all the constant attention…_ he thought morosely.

When Minerva and Filius had come back from their trip a little more than four years ago, Albus had been anxious when he heard what they told him. But nonetheless, he had decided to wait and see. When the first years were led into the Great Hall, Albus had easily spotted Harry Potter, his resemblance to James was uncanny. At first glance, Albus had been tempted to disregard all that his coworkers had said.

By their description of him, Albus had expected a small, malnourished, scrawny boy with pale skin and broken glasses. But instead, he was met with a slightly taller, seemingly healthy looking boy with tan skin and surprisingly, had escaped the Potter curse.

At a closer inspection, Albus discovered that the boy was hunched into himself, his hands were fluttering around him nervously, his eyes were skittering around the place as if expecting an attack, and he wasn't talking to a single person. Albus, the optimistic person that he was, had passed it off as nervousness on the eleven year olds' part.

But it wasn't. It _wasn't_.

That much was obvious when the boy had froze on the spot and had refused to come up to the Sorting Hat when his name was called; when he was finally convinced to, he had tripped and had nearly broken down crying.

Throughout the year, he had been late for classes on multiple occasions because he was lost. During mealtimes, he sat alone by himself at the end of the Gryffindor Table. When final exams rolled around, he failed Potions, History of Magic, and Astronomy. He had barely passed Charms, Herbology, and Transfiguration, and that was only because the professors took pity on him. At the end of the school year, Harry had only managed to pass all of his classes because he was constantly paired up with either Hermione Granger or Neville Longbottom, and because Albus had pulled a few strings.

Albus had hoped that Harry's grades would improve as he grew older, but sadly, none of that happened, it stayed the same.

It had been a slight relief when it was discovered that the boy had chosen to take Arithmancy and Ancient Runes instead of the usual _easier_ classes like most students did when they entered their Third Year. _At least he's trying_ Albus thought.

In his Fourth Year, Harry's grades dropped even more, but this, Albus attributed to the stress of the Tri-wizard Tournament. But then again, Albus wasn't even sure if Harry had ever experienced stress before.

Albus had hoped that by giving Harry Potter the Fifth Year prefect position, it would get him to become more involved with his classmates and perhaps become _brighter_.

_We'll see, we'll see. _Albus thought as he watched the boy sit down by himself in his usual seat.

_If that doesn't work, there are still other ways_. Here he stole a glance at the new professor seated to his immediate right.

* * *

Sirius Black placed his fork down and scanned the crowd of students at the Gryffindor Table, his eyes landed briefly on Neville Longbottom and his group of friends when they waved at him, he waved back and gave them a small smile

"Where is he Albus?" Sirius asked as he turned to his left.

The older man was stroking his beard as his eyes twinkled, "Who is where Sirius?"

The Animagus scoffed, "Harry! Where is he? "

"At the end of the Gryffindor Table, closest to the doors."

Instantaneously, Sirius's eyes snapped there and it zeroed in on a lone figure, "Why's he sitting by himself?"

The Headmaster merely gave him a sad smile before standing up to address the students, "Welcome back students, to another wonderful year at Hogwarts, welcome First Years, we hope you will enjoy your first year here…" Sirius tuned him out as he studied his godson carefully. According to the other teachers, and Snape in less kind words, Harry Potter was very different from his parent's… mentally.

"-And this year, two new professors will be joining us, Professor Umbridge will be teaching-"

"-Hem, hem."

Sirius winced as he listened to Dolores Umbridge's high nasally voice start droning on and on about how great the Ministry was. _If the Ministry was so great, then why did they allow an innocent man to be thrown into prison for twelve years?_

"-And now because of this new… _little _problem,-"

_Is that what you call a maniacal dark lord on the loose these days?_

"-the Ministry believes that it will be safer for all the students if we stationed our prison guards around Hogwarts."

_Prison guards…. Dementors? Are they fucking insane?_

Sirius was still pondering exactly how dense Fudge was when Albus motioned for him to get up and introduce himself, "Hi, I'm Professor Sirius Black and I will be your History of Magic teacher until…. Well, hopefully for quite some time, we certainly wouldn't want Binns back huh?" Here he stopped to wait for the cheering to die down, though it took a while longer for the Gryffindor Table to do so. "I hope that we will all have a great year together, even with my past… and your past four wild years, if the rumors are to be believed." Flashing the students a large smile, he waved at them and sat down as the loud laughter subsided.

* * *

Harry woke up at exactly 6 in morning, when the sky was just turning a pale shade of blue. Getting out of the bed, the Gryffindor gently pulled back the curtains and scanned the room. Noting that none of his roommates were awake yet, Harry grabbed his morning workout clothes, a pair of socks and cleats before heading towards the restrooms to complete his morning ritual.

A few minutes later, he summoned his Invisibility Cloak and his football from his trunk with a silent wave of his wand. Without a second glance back, Harry fluidly descended the stairs and into the Gryffindor Common Room. Quietly, he draped the Cloak over his body, taking care to make sure that the black and white patterned ball isn't visible as it rolled on the ground next to him.

With practiced ease, Harry crept across the room and successfully snuck past Granger, like he had been doing for the past few years.

Potter: 763 Granger: 0

It never stops to amuse Harry at how easy it was for him to sneak out from under the nose of the "brightest witch of the generation". It's not that Harry doesn't think Hermione Granger was smart. She _was_ it's just that she's not _smart_, smart; only book smart.

Silently laughing at the whole situation, Harry almost ran into Professor Umbridge as she came strolling down the hall. It was only with honed agility and grace that came from many years of football, did he dodge her without making a sound.

Stifling a laugh, the boy made his way out of the castle and into a secluded meadow in the Forbidden Forest.

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**Coming up next: So ****_now_**** we have the first day of classes.**

**Be sure to check out my other fanfics, the Bound Trilogy.**

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**xoxlollipopxox**


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